


tu es la seule vie parmi les morts

by honeyedgold



Series: les contes de la nuit (tales of the night) - nightverse [3]
Category: Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze
Genre: F/M, I am so sorry, M/M, Not, among other things, because his actor's hot, but i still love him anyway, my take on Mayerling, subtitled: death is a total colossal asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 11:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14810556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyedgold/pseuds/honeyedgold
Summary: in which a prince becomes an angel.





	tu es la seule vie parmi les morts

Outside the window, disturbed ravens were cawing in choked, shrill bursts. The dawn sunlight bled upon snow, but it could not have wholly breached the thick, drawn blinds that covered up a sordid scene.   

The young woman was sprawled across the bed, her beautiful locks loose and flowing like water. In her hand a rose was clasped, vivid red, the same shade of the liquid pooling around her head in a halo. The dark-haired man was sitting in the chair that he had collapsed into, trembling with an intensity that seemed manic. A revolver was clutched in his hand, the barrel still smoking faintly from the shot.

He did not have long for his own bullet. The ever-faithful Loschek would return at 7:30 sharp.

And yet he wondered. Would it be at all possible to turn back? Worse scandals have been covered up. Mary’s body could be spirited away to some unknown cemetery. Lies could be woven -

Within the dark bedchamber, where there once were two figures, there were suddenly three instead. True to his word, his friend had arrived once again.

 _And behold, I am with you always, unto the end of the world._  
  
He let his eyes wander, almost as if to etch the features into his memory. Blond hair swept back. Marble skin, without any of the flaws either natural or accrued throughout human life. A well-chiseled, square jawline. Lashes long and fine as threads of pure gold framing a pair of fathomless black eyes. Thin lips quirked up into a smirk that he knew intimately.

Rudolf rose and threw himself into Death’s open arms. Their bodies intertwined, like ice and fire, shapes matching perfectly.

Finally, for the first time in thirty years, the Prince felt _whole._

 _“You are ready.”_ It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement of fact that seemed a little like a command. Rudolf’s heart thrilled at it. “I am.” He smiled up at Death, adoring, almost worshipful.

Their foreheads pressed together.

Rudolf leaned in and planted his lips full against frigid, un-living ones. The taste was so sweet, honeyed and dark, intoxicating. He could have just stayed there, locked in this embrace, for all of eternity.

But, eventually, the contact broke as Death pulled away. Something fragile shattered.

No other thoughts were left in Rudolf’s mind. He sat back down on the bed, glanced once more at the mirror to make sure his aim was true, and fired.

Rudolf’s body jerked once at the impact, then swayed and fell to the side, leaning against the nightstand so as to leave it half-sitting. The revolver fell from its hand and clattered to the floor.

The man, less than a fraction of a second later, found himself staring down at his own ruined face. Beyond that, there was nothing but emptiness. He was alone in an endless void of darkness.

 _Is this the afterlife?_ He wondered, with no small amount of panic. _I would have thought -_

The scene shifted. He found himself standing in the middle of a lush meadow, filled with soft grass. Dotting the green were strange, pallid flowers that seemed to emit a ghostly glow.

Lights, small and floating like fireflies in a warm summer night, danced past him. Mary’s laughter chimed in the breeze.

 _I am happier in death than in life,_ she had written. Of course. It stands to reason that she would also leave him, here in the afterlife. Nobody had ever stayed by his side before. He shouldn’t be expecting them to start doing so just because he was no longer alive.

He’d best find something to occupy himself with, then. For the rest of his existence.

A thought struck him; he tried, experimentally, to think of a place. The scenery blurred again, and he was suddenly once again in the Orangerie at Schönbrunn. _Fascinating._

What seemed like a millennia then passed as he wandered aimlessly, almost despondently, through the afterlife, seeing more than he wanted to. Vienna in hysterics; Vienna in mourning.  _The Crown Prince is dead!_ People having to be carried away from his body lying in state. A rash of suicides following in his steps - or was it just another sign of the crumbling times? _Long live the Crown Prince._

His father collapsing, dissolved into inconsolable sobbing, refusing to be helped up by attendants. His sisters being nursed by their ladies-in-waiting. His wife helpless against the crossfire of questions and accusations being hurled at her.

His shattered mother begging Death for mercy and being utterly rebuffed.

_I am Sunday’s child, I have links with the other world…_

Neither of them had noticed he was there, sitting atop his own coffin, watching.

_and I can bring good or bad fortune._

_I shall never harm Valerie, Mama._ What else could he have replied to her with? She was warning him off, in that cryptic, dreamlike tone that she was so awfully fond of. It sickened him that his own family thought of him as a danger. Some schemer plotting from the shadows to overturn and ruin everything they had ever loved (which, of course, did not include him, their own flesh and blood).

He could stand their grief no longer.

He closed his eyes, and when they opened again it was to a familiar sight. The same blank emptiness as before, but only this time he wasn’t alone.

Black eyes blazed. It was completely unnecessary for Death to pin Rudolf fast against a wall, and yet the act was done anyway. Kisses formed a trail that set his nerves on fire, drawn hungrily from the tip of his ear to his collarbone. He bit back a whimper as he felt sharp nipping at his skin.

 _Don’t restrain yourself._ A familiar voice filtered into his mind, warm and encouraging. _No one can observe us here._

The next sound that emerged was not so muffled. All of his remaining reservations were burned away. A pale hand reached out, grasping at a fistful of blond hair; the other was sliding under the light shirt and up Death’s broad back.

The scene shifted around them. Instead of hard wall at his back, there was softness; a four-poster bed with a black silk canopy.

 _Mine._ Neither of them needed to say it. It was heard in the ragged, uneven breaths, the gasps and other unbidden sounds, the rustling of fabric.

It was a strange sensation. The movements they knew well; at this point it was almost like an expertly-choreographed dance as hands roamed and feet tangled. What was unfamiliar was that Death no longer felt quite so cold as it had been for the millions of times they had done this before, only slightly cool to the touch. It was almost comforting, in a way.   

After it was over, they simply laid next to each other for a while, letting the sound of their breaths fill the silence and making it companionable. The erstwhile Prince’s skin was littered with dark marks that they would have never dared to leave when he had been mortal.

Rudolf fell asleep quite quickly after that. Death had no need for it, and so he rose, restless, pacing around the chamber like some dark, silent predator.

His fingers curled into fists. A soft hiss of air escaped through clenched teeth.  
  
He couldn’t lie to himself that he wasn’t thinking of _her_ as he vented his frustration and anger upon the boy. Not that said boy was in any fit state to notice his mood, of course. So starved for a comforting touch that he fell with hardly any protest. So _weak._

If only it wasn’t the pathetic little princeling in his bed right now. If only it was her _,_ running into his embrace, sleeping in his arms at last. Instead he had to watch her actually _crawl_ towards him, begging him for mercy. Where was the fire that he had always loved in her? He had felt nothing but revulsion for the broken woman. Just like the rest of humanity, she was. Either pleading with him not to take them, or flinging themselves headlong into his realm.    
  
He refused to be a mere escape, a tool for her to use as she did with everything else in her life. When she comes to him, it will be because she loves him.

He sat down heavily at the foot of the bed.

Where did his plan go wrong? He had shown her the futility of her sham marriage. Her first daughter died because of her arrogance in thinking that she could do whatever she wanted by leading that _Emperor_ around like a sheep. He had told her as much, the day one of his Angels carried little Sophie away. “The world is dying with you. Don’t hold on to it.” And yet she persisted upon defying him, even when confronted with the news of her husband’s ultimate betrayal. That meant her son was next on the list.

The Prince was stirring, mumbling something incoherent in his sleep. His fingers opened and closed slowly as if trying to grasp at something unseen. Then, with a gasp, he jolted upwards, eyes wide in distress. But one blink later, he was composed again.

“What happens now?” Rudolf asked.

Death shrugged. He most assuredly did not wish to discuss options with the boy. That was, until he heard, “I would like to stay. As one of your Angels, if you will have me.”

A shift later, and Death was reclining in bed, looking up at the Prince with astonishment. “Have you any idea what you are committing yourself to? Spending an eternity collecting souls?” He schooled his face into an expression of open concern, masking the disdain he truly felt. _The boy has will enough to do it? Is he_ that _desperate for affection, or…_ “Would you rather not be free?”

Rudolf smiled. “I asked Mary to come along with me because I feared the unknown. But it seems I didn’t really need her after all. I have _you._ ” He leaned in close, laying his cheek on marble skin, letting silky dark hair brush Death’s chin. “You are all I will ever need. I have been loved by many, and given love to some, but you - My soul has always been yours, and always will be.” He brought Death’s right hand to his lips; brushed it gently. “Do with me as you see fit.”

On one hand, Death had no desire to acquire a hanger-on, especially such a weakling. But on the other… Quite a few benefits could be gained, the least of which was to antagonize _her._ Perhaps that will bring the woman he loves back from leaden-eyed despair.

And as their lips met once again, as black subsumed blue in those eyes that had lost their shine long before Mayerling, as wings dark like a starry night bloomed from a bare once-human back, Death wondered for the thousandth time how baffling it is that these fragile, mercurial creatures can keep surprising him at every turn.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes. The title was cribbed from, horror of horrors, _Bring Me to Life_ by Evanescence. _Only you are the life among the dead._ So fucking sue me. It was my jam in high school (auditioned with it once, in fact), and I still have it on my phone.
> 
> This was started because I realized, to my abject terror, that I implied Todolf was doing the do in Nightverse. My writing gremlins decided to make good on that implication. There will still be zero explicit scenes though. This is as far as I go. (I’m pretty inept at writing intimacy, anyway, as you can probably tell. I look away when people kiss in TV shows.) 
> 
> Johann Loschek was Rudolf’s valet and the first witness to the crime scene at the Mayerling hunting lodge. He had broken the door down with an axe. Rudolf had told him at 6:30 am to wake him an hour later for breakfast - and, of course, for the murder-suicide to be discovered.
> 
> Rudolf’s speculations actually was what happened to Mary’s body. Two of her uncles smuggled her out of Mayerling, in the dead of night like some penny-dreadful story.
> 
> I would like to apologize for quoting Matthew 28:20 (italics). I tried to translate the German wording as best I could. Rudolf was _really_ unchurchly, but I thought the quote fit. I mean, I did say in _Chant_ that Death was the only god who had ever heard him... 
> 
> The “headbutt of love” was stolen from Shirota Yuu and Furukawa Yuta’s Mayerling, off the 2016 Toho production of Elisabeth. Also stolen from that is Rudolf being kissed before he aims and fires the gun.
> 
>  _hysterics_ used to fit the period. I am aware that it and derivatives (hysterical, etc.) should no longer be in our vocabulary.
> 
> The initial description of the afterlife came from the Asphodel Meadows in Greek mythology. Rudolf worshipped Sisi, and I don’t believe he didn’t at least look into mythology at some point, because it was something his mother loved. Perhaps as a child?
> 
> The “Sunday’s child” bit was from one of the last conversations Sisi and Rudolf had before he started planning his suicide. On the way to the unveiling of the Maria Theresia memorial in Vienna, their carriage had become trapped in the midst of an anti-Habsburg protest, which didn’t help Rudolf’s fragile state of mind any.


End file.
